


A wand’s memories

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Chan, Drama, Gen, M/M, Mpreg, Mystery, Out of Character, Slash, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-01
Updated: 2007-02-01
Packaged: 2018-10-01 06:50:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10183301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: What secret a wand could guard? Will Moody find the owner of the wand before the boy's destinity catch up with him? mentioned mpreg later chapter, not Severus/Moody pairing





	1. The Wand

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Title: Memories of a wand /A wand’s memories

Beta: kin2cats

Warning: in later chapters mentioned slash and mpreg

A/N: The story is playing out in Marauder Era, pre-HP books. HBP does not count.

Chapter 1   
Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody was one of the fairest Aurors, he was told to be as cruel to his enemies as they were to their victims. When they talked about him, everyone lowered their voices, because they were afraid he would hear them. The gossips said his enemies only dared to whisper his name. There was much more gossip and legend around about Moody, but in spite of everything, they told the same: Mad-Eye Moody was an honourable man, a fierce warrior, a fight-hardened soldier, and a strong supporter of the light.

But this latest mission turned even Moody’s stomach as he surveyed the den, it could not be called house or a room, even if at one time, it was. It was Grayback’s den, who was a bloodthirsty werewolf, a monster who loved to inflict pain and death. Dirt and rags were everywhere, it smelled of a mixture of blood, urine, despair and death, this very smell and implication of the picture it drew, were what made the Aurors to loose their lunch and turned even Moody’s stomach.

The old Auror closely examined everything; he wanted to find the murdering bastard once and for all. They were so close to cornering Grayback, but the wolf ran, well, apparated, when he saw them closing in on his lair. The Aurors needed to find the bastard before he could attack a new family, but their time was running out faster every hour, the full moon was only two weeks away.

After hours of searching, they were no closer to Grayback’s new hideout than before, when the impossible happened, and Moody saw a wand lying innocently under a torn blanket, which was covered in blood. The wand was ebony black, and glittered in the soft candle-light. Moody’s magical eye examined it for spells and curses, and finding nothing on it, he lifted the wand up carefully from the floor to be able to examine it closer.

Whoever owned this wand had taken good care of it, Moody could almost feel the magical residue, the memories of the wand. It was not common knowledge, but wands were able to contain memories of a person, usually the owner’s memories were connected to strong emotions, such as love, hate and happiness. The wand could store these memories like a pensive. The owner of this one would not have left behind his wand on his or her own, Moody was sure of it, but to know what happened exactly, he needed to invoke the memories of the wand.

“Virga Memorias!”

As he closed his hand around the wand and closed his eyes, voices and pictures assaulted him, they whirled around him, and then the memories slowed down and fell into place as he opened his eyes, he was there, but not, he became one with the memory as it played out before him.

\--------- Memory Scan -----------

Moody became the owner of the wand, it sometimes happened if the memory’s attached emotions were too strong, and this time they were almost overwhelming for the Auror. He could feel panic, despair and pain assaulted his mind and he used his Occlumency skill to be able to concentrate on anything else in the memory. The body was pressed as close to the cold wall as he could, his right hand was held out before him; his wand was grasped in his hand. The hand looked terribly young, dirty and starved. Moody could feel the pain radiating out from the left arm. It was broken, and the bone poked up through the skin, he could feel the blood running down his forearm. Moody was deeply disturbed; the boy, in his mind he was sure it was a young boy whose memory he lived again, was clearly able to identify his injury.

Then Moody saw as a werewolf got to its feet with a snarl. It moved towards its trembling victim. Moody heard a faint whimper and muttering from the boy, as he listened closer he could make out what the young lad had muttered in his last moments, but what he heard surprised him.

“Not again, please not again.” It was like the child’s mantra against the beast that closed on him with every step. This new information disturbed him again, the boy had clearly faced a werewolf some time ago, and lived to tell the tale without being bitten, but he could not remember such an encounter happening in the last 20 years or so.

He was prepared to pull away from the memory; Moody did not want to witness this child’s death, when a new sensation washed over him: determination to live, to escape, to fight even if it resulted in his death. A surge of magic swarmed over the battered, starved young body, as he gathered his strength to lash out one more time.

“Argentum Munimentum Protego!“ the young voice was determined and strong, the voice just starting to crack, the Boy would then be a young teen, 13 or 14 years old. But these details were just an incidental significance, besides the unknown spell, he had never heard of this type of the shield charm before, but it worked. Silver erupted from the Boy’s wand and a silver shield appeared around the Boy. The werewolf ran into the shield, then backed away as he was burned, whimpering and snarling at the Boy, who was wearing a smug smile, because it had worked, HIS spell had worked!

But the relief was short-lived, the Boy’s energy faded fast, he could not feed the shield any more magic, the shield started to crumble, and on the other side, an angry werewolf waited on his prey. The boy gulped, the situation was not good; he needed to get out of there, but how?

The only exit was blocked by an angry, blood-thirsty werewolf, and he could not apparate away, that left a port-key. He knew the procedure and the spell, but he had never done it before, he could end up who-knew-where, but the alternative, staying here, made anywhere else better.

He concentrated on the wooden cup on the table, and whispered “Portus” but the moment he said the spell, his shield failed, and the werewolf attacked. It scared him, and as he moved in a rush to grab the cup, his injured arm met the table’s wooden surface, the pain ran through him and his wand fell out of his limp fingers. He did not have time to pick up his wand; the beast was only a few feet away from him, and closing on him fast. He gave a last sad thought to his beloved wand, before he reached out and touched the cup.

It was one of the last thoughts Moody was able to get before the memory faded away, leaving him in Grayback’s den, with a smug, almost prudish smile on the boy’s face, because the Boy, whoever he was, had done it: escaped and lived to tell the tale, and Moody swore he would find the Boy and give him back his wand.

\--------------------------------------

Virga Memorias (Latin) Wand Memory

Argentum Munimentum (Latin) Silver Protection


	2. Chapter 2

  
Author's notes: What secret a wand could guard? Will Moody find the owner of the wand before the boy's destinity catch up with him?  


* * *

Beta: kin2cats

A/N: The story is playing out in Marauder Era, pre-HP books. HBP does not count.

Chapter 2

The hunt for Grayback continued, without much progress. After searching the den, the Aurors ran into dead-end again. Moody decided he would search out the Boy’s identity. Mad-Eye searched the system records for failed werewolf attempts, but found nothing, he looked thought the missing child records, both Muggle and Wizard, but nobody was missing the Boy.

He decided that the only one who could surely identify the Boy would be Olivander, if the Boy had bought his wand there, that is. If not, he could get information about the wand from the old wand-maker. It occurred to him that if he activated the spell to view the wand’s memories again, while he was in Diagon Alley, maybe he could find some clue, which would help to solve the mystery of the Boy’s identity.

As he walked down the Alley, he did not get any memory, like the wand’s owner had never stepped in this place. It was unlikely; he clearly remembered the Boy’s accent was from London. Everyone had their fond memories of the place. ‘Strange, but it seemed everything was strange with this boy,’ he thought with a rueful smile, as he stepped inside Olivander’s wand-shop and was greeted by the older wizard.

“How can I help you this time, Auror Moody?”

“A wand,” he said mysteriously, and pulled out the Boy’s ebony wand and placed it on the counter. Olivander’s grey eyes widened, and then taking the wand in his hand, his long fingers running over it, measuring and humming and “ahh-ing” along the way. His eyes moved to the Auror and their eyes locked before he started to speak.

“This is a special wand for a special, unique and powerful wizard.” His grey eyes moved back to the wand and he narrowed them as though he could see thought the wood. ‘Maybe he could,’ thought Moody, as he watched Olivander at work. Then the man spoke again, without lifting his gaze from the wand. “Unique. Yes, unique balance between dark and light, between potions and spells and curses. The core is vampire and veela hair. I did not make this one. Yuack’s… Yes, it’s Yuack’s work.”

“And where can I found this Yuack?”

“In Knockturn Alley.”

Knockturn Alley was more than just the bad guys meeting place, and the dark market. In this shadowed alley, people lived their everyday lives, and died without much notice from the outside world. The locals were mostly dark wizards, whores, assassins, murderers and dark creatures, the wizarding world’s trash, but there were people who moved here due to necessity, they were the poorest of the wizarding world.

Moody was familiar with the alley, he had patrolled it many times, he may have even seen the Boy, but he did not know for sure, he hadn’t seen the Boy’s face yet. As he stepped into the alley, his left hand grasped the wand and he felt the familiar rush, and a feeling washed over him, he could find only one word for it: HOME. As he strolled deeper in, farther from Diagon Alley, the feelings got stronger and stronger, and then the memories assaulted him.

\------------- Memory Scan -------------

A young raven-haired boy stood by the bookshop’s dirty window and peeked inside, his clothing was torn, he was dirty, and Moody could feel hunger rolling out of the Boy: hunger for books, a thirst for knowledge.

\-----------------------

Then the memory faded, to be replaced by another one. This one came when his gaze turned towards the animal shop.

\------------- Memory Scan -------------

The same boy, maybe a few years younger than the one he had seen by the bookshop, knelt by a pen, where kittens were put out for sale, as he put out his hand, a grey kitten instantly ran to him, and started to lick his fingers. The small boy beamed at the old witch, who smiled back at him, she had several teeth missing, her hair was in a bun, but a big mop of hair had escaped it. She was wearing a tattered robe which had seen bettered days.

“You can take him, child.” Moody could feel the happiness radiating from the boy, just to be replaced by sorrow.

“I can’t. He would kill the kitten.” The child said timidly, the woman nodded grimly, and then smiled a very cunning smile.

“What he don’t know, won’t hurt him, child. If there is a problem you can bring it back and I will keep it safe for you.” The Boy bit his lower lip as he thought over the woman’s offer, and nodded, and some of the earlier happiness replaced. Moody could see it in the boy’s unique jet-black eyes.

\---------------------

As he went deeper and deeper in Knockturn Alley, he got glimpses of memories, but they were not strong enough for Moody to see them all. But it was clear the Boy grew up here, Mad-Eye hoped someone would be able to tell him who this boy is and where he could find him.

The wand in his hand felt warm and comfortable as he turned at the corner, not far from him was a run-down apothecary, feelings rushed over him, not his own feelings, but the Boy’s: surprise, pleasure happiness, and pride. Olivander’s words echoed in his mind, Unique. Yes, unique balance between dark and light, between potions and spells. Potions…Apothecary. He stepped up to its door and opened it. The place was dark, and smelled of herbs and potion ingredients. As he took a deep breath he felt like he was falling into the memories of the Boy.

\------------- Memory Scan -------------

“What ya doing here, whelp?” Snarled a deep raspy male voice, as he grabbed the Boy by his hair and turned him to face the owner of the voice. The man had yellowish crooked teeth and a bad mouth smell, greasy long hair and piercing, slightly crazed, green eyes.

“No-nothing.” The small boy mumbled, who could not be more than four years old. His small face was dirty and bruised. The man snorted at him and let him go. The small body stumbled back and almost fell over.

“Get out.” Snarled the man, before turning away and strolled toward the back of the shop where a caldron was boiling. The Boy just stood there, nervously looking out of the dirty window, some of the older boys attacked him and he could not save himself, the only safe place around was the crazy Yuack’s shop.

Moody saw the boy’s terrified black eyes as he tried to calculate which would be worse for his health, his drunken father’s beating, to give himself up to the older boys’ mercy, or take his chances with the crazy Potions expert. But because the first two opinions were suicide, he walked up carefully to the unfamiliar man; he tried to walk in the shadows, to conceal his presence as much as he could. But the man’s green eyes found him, and pinned him in place.

“I said get out.” yelled the man, but the boy did not move. “Are you deaf, whelp, or what?” he snarled, then turned back to his work.

“What’s this?” asked a small voice.

“Potion.” snapped back the older, the Boy just rolled his eyes and stepped closer to see in the caldron.

“Which one?” the boy asked again, with a slightly annoyed voice. Moody was amused by the small boy’s piercing, inquisitive gaze.

“Burn Salve,” growled the man under his breath.

“Too thick.” The man’s head snapped up and his green gaze looked with black one, those eyes were too old and intelligent for such a young boy. The man, Yuack, sneered and answered.

“Not”

“Too.” snapped back the Boy.

“Look Whelp…”

“Look Mr Yuack, this potion is too thick and the colour is slightly off, the Maruet’s Potion Guide says it’s caused by old eye of newt or tainted water,” lectured the Boy. Moody and Yuack both were amazed by the knowledge from one so young.

Moody briefly wondered why no one seemed to know the child’s name, he heard him being called Child, Whelp and he himself called the youngling Boy. Somewhere along the road, he was starting to like the kid, with each piece of the puzzle, the Boy became more and more important to him, more and more important to find him. The memory was disturbed by a deep, raspy voice.

\-------------------

“What ya want here?” Moody looked up and came to face to face with the man he had just seen in the memory, he looked older, a few grey hairs could be seen in his black hair.

“To find the owner of this wand.” With that said he pulled the wand from his pocket and held it up for the other man to see.

“Whelp” whispered Yuack, more to himself, than to Moody, when he first noticed the wand. “How ya get it?” his green eyes snapped up to Moody’s face.

“My name is Auror Moody. We found this wand in a werewolf’s den, while investigating werewolf attacks. I… we would like to find out what happened with the Boy.”

“So he died.”

“No. I don’t think so. I think he managed to escape the attack but I’d like to know for sure.”

“I have not see the Whelp for some time now, he went to school a few years ago and didn’t see him that often after that, only summer time.”

“It would help if you could tell me his name, or the name of the school he went to.”

“The Whelp is Whelp. I never asked his name, and he never said. And the school, he never talked about it much; I knew just that he did not really like the place.”

“You knew someone who maybe can help to find him or find out more information about him.”

“He lived in Rouge Noir; ya know the brothel down the road.”

“Thank you for your help, Mr Yuack.”

“Just find the Whelp alive.”

Moody nodded and left the small potion store.


	3. Chapter 3

  
Author's notes: What secret a wand could guard? Will Moody find the owner of the wand before the boy's destinity catch up with him?  


* * *

Beta: kin2cats

A/N: The story is playing out in Marauder Era, pre-HP books. HBP does not count.

Chapter 3

Moody made his way toward one of the oldest brothels in Knockturn Alley, the Rouge Noir. It was housed in a 4-story building; it was a shabby place like everything in the alley. Some whores stood at the entrance of the Rouge Noir, there was a big choice between them, there were young ones and old, beautiful and ugly, man and woman. Moody couldn’t fathom what growing up in this place could be like, but it couldn’t have been easy.

Some of the whores watched him with guarded looks; Moody was well-known in the area, one or two of them he had caught for stealing or prostitution in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. He went inside.

On the first floor was a dark, smoke-filled pub with soft enchanted music playing in the background. It was not dark out yet, but almost a dozen customers lingered around the bar, who knew how many more were occupied with a whore on one of the higher floors. Moody went up to the bar where a middle-aged, almost beautiful woman served the drinks. The woman turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“How can I serve you?” purred the woman, while she smiled at him.

“My name is Auror Moody and I looking for a boy, Mr Yuack call him Whelp?” she blinked at him, her smile vanished, and her eyes were sober and … fearful.

“We have not seen the Whelp for about three months now, he went back to school.” She licked her lips nervously. “Did something happen to him?”

“We don’t know for sure, his wand was found but he was nowhere near. I would like to know his name and talk to his parents, if it could be arranged.”

“Tobias is up in his room, but I do not think he will be interested in the Whelp’s existence, he would be only too happy if the boy died.” She angrily snapped her answer. She looked towards the stairway, before looking back at him. “You need to talk with him; he is the only one with the answers you seek. I hope you will find the Whelp.” She said before she turned away.

Moody sighed, he had hoped for something more, his left hand slipped in his pocket and grabbed the Boy’s wand.

\------------- Memory Scan -------------

The memories whirled around him, He heard the giggling noise and turned toward the tables’ area of the pub, and he could see a tumbling infant trying to out-run his temporary baby-sitter, the same woman who was at the counter.

She was younger and somehow more innocent, she smiled, a real smile as she tried to catch a running infant. She was always a step behind the black-eyed boy to catch him if he fell. Moody could feel love and security wash over him.

\-----------------

The next memory was from the same duo as the woman tried to pry the Boy out from under the table. The Boy looked around the same age as the memory-child he had encountered in the potions shop. His pale skin was bruised, his lips spilt open and his whole body was trembling.

“Sev, get out of there, before your father sees you down here.” The child just shook his head desperately. No, the Boy has a name, no, not a name, only a fragment of a name, but Moody felt it was wrong to call him Boy or Child or Whelp anymore, it felt too inhuman for such an interesting, unique and brilliant boy as Sev.


End file.
